


Motion Picture

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-13
Updated: 2001-12-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Lance's life as a movie.





	Motion Picture

"For a romantic comedy, this isn't very funny." 

1\. History, as it is. 

There is a moment in the busy first day when Lance slows down and his mother puts her hand on his arm. She says, "honey, I'm just going to talk to Mr. Pearlman for a while. You sit here and behave, sweetie. I'll be right back." 

The room is small, with a television and a stack of three-year-old magazines sitting on a crotchety old coffee table. The couches are a matching set, both black, both leather, with holes worn in the armrests. Lance sits, and the fabric squeaks under his acid-wash, straight-leg jeans. Nervously, he plays with the edge of his shirt. It's plaid, mostly red. 

In his stomach, nervousness twists, and Lance smiles at his knee in its familiarity, fingers fanned out over it. His other hand plays in his hair, bangs cut straight across his eyebrows, and he knows he isn't what Mr. Pearlman hoped he would be. Lance is never what anybody wants. 

Lance is the kid whom everybody likes, but he never actually makes friends. He's in a show choir, and for a bass, he knows he has a good voice. He remembers before his voice broke, how angelic and sweet his words were, but that's in the past. Lance is already preparing to get his business degree. He will make something of himself. 

"Hey, are you Lance?" Someone asks, and Lance lifts his head to stare at a tall, lanky man with a wide grin and wavy hair. Lance doesn't know it yet, but this man is going to change his life. This man is going to bring him the sweetest pleasure and the greatest pain. This is the opening scene to Lance's motion picture. 

"I'm JC," the man continues, holding out his hand, and by the time their fingers brush for the very first time, Lance is already in love. 

Roll opening credits. 

~~~ 

2\. The present, as it was. 

Lance used to get sick the mornings before studio time. He would wake up extra early to force all the bile out of his stomach then drink only water for the entire day. Now, though, he barely notices it. In front of the microphone, that's where he's comfortable now. 

"Okay, break," JC says from the sound booth, and Lance looks up with a start. Through the glass, JC grins at him, and Lance, eternally stupid, smiles back. "You guys want sandwiches? Justin's in the hall, taking orders." 

"The usual, C," Joey says, mouth around a bottle of water, and Lance nods. The usual. JC gives a thumbs up, and Lance goes back to staring at his knees. Joey is staring at him. "Lance, man. You know this is getting a little out of hand, right?" 

"It's a lot out of hand," Lance mumbles, and his fingers pluck at an escaped thread on his loose-fitting, dark-denim jeans. Over the years, Lance has changed completely, save for one thing. He is still in love with JC, and JC still does not love him back. 

"Dude," Joey says, and Lance stands up, turning his back to him. Lance isn't that much taller than when he started in the band -- he's still pretty small -- but his presence is bigger than when he was a child. "How much longer are you going to wait for him?" 

Lance knows the answer, but Joey doesn't believe in forever. 

~~~ 

3\. The obligatory lonely man scene. 

Lance lives in a big house all by himself. He has a ferret named Dirk, who stalks around the house at night, and two geckoes named Ron and Jeremy. Joey bought them for Lance on his twenty-second birthday to go with the three videos of gay porn. 

The rooms are familiar to anyone who has ever ordered out of an Ikea catalogue. Lance's world is decorated in neutral tones and Swedish furniture with pine accents. All the pictures are hung at right angles on the walls, and the floor is a dark oak wood. 

Every night, when he's not on tour, Lance leaves his stack of mail on the hall table and checks his messages. After, he turns on the stove and starts making dinner. While it's cooking, he opens up his letters and sorts them into three piles: bills, junk mail and personal mail. He eats by himself at the table, a place set for one. 

Later on, once he's watched Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, he lets Dirk climb onto his shoulders. Together, they watch numerous one-hour dramas while Lance nurses a glass of rye and ginger on the rocks. After the eleven o'clock news, Dirk runs off, and Lance goes upstairs. 

Lance folds his pants over the back of his desk chair and hangs up his shirt. He tosses his socks in the laundry basket on his way to the bathroom to use the facilities. Humming the song of the day, he brushes his teeth and flosses then he walks back to the bed and turns off the light. 

Every night, he wraps his hand around his dick and jerks off. 

This is Lance's lonely life. 

~~~ 

4\. The solution as presented by the wacky best friend. 

"You know, if you told him, this would all end right now! It's an easy solution, Lance! Life would be good!" Joey shouts, wearing a big pair of blue shorts with a half-naked baby hooked over his shoulder. Lance flips through the pages of the newspaper to check on the weather. 

Joey is a good but inexperienced father. He is an ever better friend, and he is the only one that Lance lets get this close. Joey leans against Lance's back, his free arm around Lance's belly. Brianna is nested between them. She drools on Lance's neck, but he doesn't mind. It makes him feel loved. 

"Do you want me to tell him?" Joey asks quietly, words snuffling through Lance's hair. Lance heaves a big dramatic sigh and shakes his head. "This isn't the movies, Lance. You don't need to suffer for an audience. Say something to him. You're killing me here." 

"I can't," Lance says. "I can't, Joey." 

There is no script in this motion picture. 

~~~ 

5\. Flashback: the annoying co-worker intervenes. 

It's five days after his eighteenth birthday. It's a surprise blind-date that Chris sets up and says very little about until the doorbell is ringing. Lance is expecting a tomboyish girl named Sam, but he gets a handsome boy instead. 

"Oh, hi," Lance says, and he wears his shock like an obvious mask, but he puts on his coat and lets this handsome boy take him out to dinner. His story is predictable. He worked with Chris as a Hollywood Hi-Tone, and he is gay. He is only an extra in this whole production. 

It's not a bad first date, and Sam is very nice. They talk for hours like old friends, and even as the night draws to a close, the problem between them is obvious. Sam is not JC, and they both know it. Sam says, "do you want me to go?" 

They end up having sex on Lance's bed, hot dirty sex during which Lance half pulls him closer and half pushes him away. The room is dimly lit, and Lance's skin is pale and glowing. Sam's hand on Lance's thigh, urging him deeper, seems too dark, too big. JC's hands are lightly tanned and boney. In the end, Lance rolls onto his side and asks Sam to leave. 

Exit stage left. 

~~~ 

6\. The introduction of the oblivious beloved's newest girlfriend. 

Lance admits to no one that he hates Bobbie, but he's sure it's obvious. He is certain the whole world can read what is on his face, captured on film. This dislike of her has not gone away in the time since the breakup, and he knows he is going to hate the new girl, Rebecca. She seems almost not to like JC at all, which is how he likes it. JC is as beautiful as he is tragic. 

Rebecca is slim and pretty, with wide brown eyes and bleached blonde hair. Her breasts are in no way real, but she sings like a songbird. To Lance, she seems fragile like a dove, and he hopes she flies away soon. He doesn't want to hate her. 

He knows he already does. 

~~~ 

7\. Lonely boy, revisited. 

Lance cleans out his attic. He is wearing ragged old jeans that hang low around his waist. This is his body, smooth in its texture, perfect in its form. If Lance holds his breath, he lives as a sculpture for as long as he forgets he's human. Each time, he loses himself. Each time, he wishes to stay gone forever. 

The music playing is sad and tragic. It's a CD he stole from JC, laden with deeper meaning and self reflection. Lance sips a rye and ginger, standing in the corner with his back against the cold white wall. He watches the room. Nothing ever changes. 

When the end note is hit, Lance curls to his knees and cries. 

~~~ 

8\. The annoying co-worker and the wacky best friend try to make the best of a bad situation. 

"You can't just pine away for the rest of your life, Bass. You need to grab it by the balls and say, ‘fuck you, life, you've been screwing me since the day I was born, it's time I screwed back.' What you need, Lance, is a fuck-buddy," Chris says. He is wearing a toque with a pom-pom on the end and yellow-tinted prescription sunglasses. He is a freak. 

"Or we can watch porn and circle jerk," Joey says. His shirt reads: "Make 7." On the back: "Up Yours." It is typical Joey. 

"Or that," Chris says. 

Lance flips through his fashion magazine while they move around, getting beer and corn-chips. He looks up briefly when they fight over the porn. They are searching for what they actually like: blond, pretty and flexible. They seem to forget they're straight. 

"Yo, man, get your Bass ass over here," Chris says. 

Lance closes his glossy stock magazine, fingers hovering on the outskirts. He sips the last of his rye and ginger then shuts his eyes and tips his head forward. In the light from the window, he looks almost angelic. If he is, then he is already halfway fallen, wings mangled. 

Lance is sure he's seen hell. 

He thinks this must be it. 

~~~ 

9\. Flashback: the string of failed relationships. 

Julian is a set-designer for the 1999 VMAs. In the dressing room, he goes down on Lance, and Lance gives him a phone number. They talk exactly five times, over a span of two weeks, until Julian stops calling. Julian realises he is not JC. Lance already knows that. 

Aaron is a lawyer. He is smart and fun. They don't sleep together until the sixth date, and it continues for precisely three months. During this time, Joey finds them together, a twine of naked limbs in bed. Joey is more distraught than Lance is when they break up. 

Gavin is an artist and a songwriter. He paints people drinking coffee then sings to them. Lance hates him on sight, but they fuck anyway in an alley behind the café. Lance, not blind to the similarities, stays with him for six months. Gavin paints a series of paintings of Lance. He burns them when Lance leaves without saying goodbye. 

Lance doesn't love any of them. 

He doesn't even like them. 

~~~ 

10\. The somewhat villainous archetype who has everything better in his own life and who doesn't show up again. 

Justin talks about Britney to whoever will listen. Lance closes one ear and lets him speak, swallowing the envious rage deep into his own stomach. Justin is oblivious to any suffering other than his own. Lance doesn't blame him for this. Justin is just intensely in love. 

"And then! She looks at me, and I swear, Lance, she was so beautiful. I knew I loved her. I'm going to marry her someday, man. She's going to be my wife. I love her so much. I can feel it. It's, like, this tangible thing. She's so. wow, man. So wow." 

Lance nods and agrees in the pauses. Mostly, he sips his rye and ginger or asks Justin to hold on a second while he goes to get another one. Justin is a constant reminder of all that Lance doesn't have in his own life. Lance lets him talk for hours. 

Lances lives through Justin vicariously, and everything Justin says kills him a little bit more. 

~~~ 

11\. Lonely boy, scene three. 

It's raining and dreary. Lance sits by the window with his rye and ginger, and the shadow-patterns of the raindrops on the glass spot his face. He looks out longingly into the world, and his face is marred with a deep unending sadness. 

He drinks alone. 

~~~ 

12\. The oblivious beloved makes the situation worse. 

JC's hair is big and curly, and he uses his sunglasses to push it back from his perfectly angular face. He wears old worn jeans and old worn birckenstocks with thin white tee-shirts. He is the most beautiful man in all the world. Lance's heart stops whenever he sees him. 

"Hey, Lance," JC says. He is smiling, but the brief closeup reveals it doesn't reach his eyes. Lance stares at JC's lips and waits. Eventually, JC tips his head to the side and uses a palm to push the hair out of his face. The sunglasses are in his other hand, dangling from his fingers. "Rebecca broke up with me. She said I was a prick." 

"They all say that," Lance says, "it isn't true." 

JC looks tragic as he frowns, and he reaches out to hug Lance. Lance lets him, dropping his head when JC's arms circle his waist. JC is not always observant, but sometimes, he sees more than he should. Lance rarely looks him in the eye. "Why does nobody like me, Lance?" 

Every six months, JC asks this, and every six months, Lance says he doesn't know. 

Times like these, Lance hates him as much as he loves him. 

~~~ 

13\. The annoying co-worker and the wacky best friend intervene. 

"For a romantic comedy, this isn't very funny," Chris says. He is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and huge yellow shorts. His beard hair is twisted into horns. He is still a freak. "This is the suckiest movie ever," Joey agrees. His shirt says: "Pornstar." It is, as it always is, typical Joey. Nothing in Lance's life ever changes. It is just a matter of the same scene and repeated watching. It is all stagnant and old. 

Lance gets up to get himself a drink. He doesn't miss the look Chris and Joey exchange, but he doesn't say anything, either. He simply pours the rye into the glass then adds ginger ale. The proportions are all off. It is a fifty-fifty split. 

"Listen, Lance," Chris says quietly. He pauses dramatically, and Lance turns around. His glass is already half empty, but he can barely feel the burn in his own throat. "About your drinking. Joe and I think you need to cut back." 

"Do you?" Lance asks. His face is cold and devoid of emotion. It is exactly how he feels inside. It looks like the secrets he can barely stand to share. "Why don't you get the fuck out of my house? Who asked you to come here anyway?" 

Joey stands up, tall and menacing. "Lance, that's your third drink tonight." 

"I'm thirsty," Lance replies. "Now, get out." 

When they refuse to go, Lance throws his glass against the wall and watches it shatter. Joey tries to touch him, and Lance hits him as hard as he can, cutting Joey's face with his ring. The blood drips onto Lance's beige sofa, staining the fabric. 

"Get out!" he shouts, desperate. "Just go!" 

"Lance," Chris says, as Joey says, "Lance." 

Lance whispers, "please go," and he covers his face with his hand. They've never really seen him cry, and he doesn't want that to change. Chris touches him first, a hand to his elbow, and Lance yanks his arm away. Joey folds a palm over his shoulder, and Lance pulls back, cornered like a hunted animal. Lance whispers again, "please, go. please." 

But they don't leave, and he's already crying. 

~~~ 

14\. The annoying co-worker and wacky best friend force action. 

"Lance, this is a problem," Chris says, and Lance nods. He knows it is. "I mean, all right, we don't want to make you deal with this, all of this." He lifts his hands and gestures around. Lance nods again. Inside, Lance is cold. "But man. It's killing you." 

Lance's hands are shaking. His head feels light. Lance thinks he might actually be drunk. His fingers rise to touch his face and drop just as quickly. Instead, Lance holds his own stomach and hopes he doesn't puke. He tastes bile in his throat, and whispers, "I know it is. I know." 

Joey punches the wall, and his fist slides cleanly into it. A snowfall of drywall flutters to the ground. Chris tilts his head sharply, and Lance folds his palms over his eyes. This is not happening to him. This is not his life. This is not how it ends. 

"I'll stop drinking," Lance says to whoever will listen. "I'll stop. I don't need it. I'll stop." 

He knows that's not what they meant. 

~~~ 

15\. Lonely boy, living his lonely life, alone. 

Lance's house is big and quiet and empty. Joey and Chris clean him out and leave him with nothing but ghosts. Now, he sits at his kitchen table, clipping coupons. The scissors slip and pierce his thumb. A drop of blood soils the newsprint. Lance barely feels it. 

His hands shake. He holds them under his arms or between his legs, and they shake. He bangs his head hard against the wooden table and still they shake. He hits his skull until it hurts, until he can barely see, and only then does he stand on shaky legs to make his way upstairs. 

Lance is such a terrible mess. He trips on the stairs and bends his fingers into the wood, struggling for a grip that he loses. He slides down, shoulders slumped in defeat, crumpled at the bottom of the steps. Lance feels broken. 

With shaking heads, he reaches for the phone. 

The buttons beep loudly with each unsteady press. 

~~~ 

16\. The oblivious beloved comes to the rescue. 

"Sit with me awhile?" Lance asks. He stares at his white cotton socks. Underneath, his toes wriggle like snakes. "I'll make tea." 

JC nods and stands in the door until Lance steps back and remembers to let him in. JC is dressed in thin sweatpants and a big holey sweatshirt that hangs off his shoulder. He looks like he just woke up. Lance is sure he just did. 

Lance makes tea with fingers that drop everything they try to hold. He closes his eyes and wills himself not to break any further. He feels like the thinnest of glass, too sharp and easily shattered. He stays at the counter for a long time, and when he looks up from where his hands fight their battle, JC is standing in the doorway. He looks tiny in his huge clothes. 

"Cream and sugar, right?" Lance asks. His voice is low but tinged with something akin to hope. JC nods and lifts a hand to scratch at his bare shoulder. Lance picks up the kettle and tries to hold it still as he pours. He breathes sharply when he splashes his traitorous hand with boiling hot water. JC takes it from him. 

"Honey," JC says and opens the nearest cupboard, taking out the hive-shaped bottle. He prepares Lance's tea like Lance likes it, and Lance lets him bring both cups into the living room. The lights stay off, but a vanilla candle burns on the fireplace mantle. The scent is supposed to relax Lance. 

They don't talk. They just sit there. 

Lance drinks his tea and burns his lips. 

~~~ 

17\. The almost confession, which leaves both parties confused and wordless. 

"Do you know why you're here?" Lance asks, mouth curled around the coffee mug. It says: "#1 Son." Lance thinks it's a really funny joke, all things considered. Lance hasn't called his mother in two weeks. JC doesn't say anything. "Chris and Joey think I'm an alcoholic." 

JC lifts his head. His eyes are dark and blue. "Are you?" 

"Maybe," Lance admits, nodding. Maybe he is, but he doesn't know how to say it and isn't going to try now. Instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and tucks his feet under the bloodstained couch cushion. Suddenly, he feels bad for hitting Joey. "I said I'd stop." 

"It must be hard," JC replies. 

Lance stares at his own hands and tastes his own mortality. "They won't stop shaking." He sips his tea, the liquid hot as it scalds his throat. He almost feels it. He isn't used to tactile sensation in his life. He wants it so badly. "I want to tell you something, but I don't know how." 

JC pulls his big old sweatshirt up over his shoulder. He looks at Lance in way that meets Lance's eyes and doesn't let him look away. Lance knows his face must reveal everything. JC probably understands the truth already. When Lance lies, the whole world is in on it. 

"Will you hate me if I say it?" Lance asks. 

"I would never hate you," JC promises. 

Lance finds himself suddenly without words. 

Someone keeps rewriting what he needs to say. 

Lance thinks it must be him. 

~~~ 

18\. Confession, take two. 

The clock is loud as it ticks away time, and seconds stretch to minutes into hours. The air is warm and stale. The windows remain closed, and JC pulls at the neckline of his sweatshirt, skin glistening in the half-light of the candle. 

"You can go," Lance says. 

"I want to stay," JC replies. 

Lance tilts his head against his shoulder and remembers to breathe. He feels stiff and sore. He's thirsty but doesn't want to drink his tea. He knows what he needs, and he knows he can't have it. He understands Chris and Joey are right, and he hates that. He is so sick of his life. 

"I want to die," Lance says. "I want to kill myself." 

It isn't what he meant to say. It's a truth he knew was in himself, somewhere deep inside where he couldn't reach and didn't want to touch, but it's here now. It is revealed for all to see, captured in memory. JC looks intensely sad. Lance is just so tired of this life. 

"Please don't," JC whispers and lifts his hand. Like a dog, Lance lays his cheek against the open palm and closes his eyes. The hand is warm and soft. JC presses it to his face and holds it flush against Lance's skin. Lance feels it. "Please don't leave me alone." 

"I want to die," Lance repeats, but it doesn't mean anything anymore. 

Lance loves JC more than anything else, even himself, even death. 

~~~ 

19\. The anticlimax because it is, after all, only a romantic comedy. 

In the end, JC says it first. His fingers are on Lance's face, stroking gently, and his face is hopeful but marred with a sadness so deep Lance feels it, too. JC is as beautiful now as he was then, when Lance wore straight-leg jeans and JC held out his hand. 

And in the end, Lance cries. It hurts to hear in places he thought long dead, and JC holds him close, fingers dug into Lance's back. The sweatshirt is still too big, and the tears soak JC's bare shoulder. Lance wipes them away with his mouth and brings them back into his body. They still don't feel right, out in the open. 

The ending is as happy as it can be, with one halfway broken soul and one that got there almost too late. They sit together as the sun rises, faces bowed to each other, and their lips meet in a hesitant kiss. Between them, their fingers weave. They cling together in the way that desperate lovers do. Lance lifts his head, hands finally stilled, and says, 

"I love you, too." 

Credits rolling. 

The end.


End file.
